


4 Times Guy was Nice in Stealth-Mode (and One Time He Totally Got Caught)

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Green Lantern Corps (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Times Guy was Nice in Stealth-Mode (and One Time He Totally Got Caught)

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bunch of different cameos in this that aren't listed at the top because it'd be spoilery. Enjoy!

**Tastes Like Home (Your Tastes May Vary)**  
The negotiations took three days and enough interstellar ring calls that Guy had to recharge once they were over. It was another week before the supplies arrived, and Guy had to hand over a sizable bribe in Rann currency just to get the ship unloaded.  
  
“I already paid three times what this is worth,” he grumbled to the driver.  
  
The driver shrugged. “You’re the one wanting Rann food in wartime. Take it up with someone who cares.”  
  
He wasn’t taking food from anyone’s mouth, Guy knew, but he still got a pang of guilt until he remembered why he was doing all of this. “Put it in the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll sort it myself.”  
  
“Whatever.” The driver signaled the man at the back of the ship, and the hatch opened. “Be about ten minutes.”  
  
“Fine.” Guy watched the unloading with a sharp eye. He’d paid his bribe, but he also knew people who took bribes tended to try and screw over the honest businessman.  
  
Three hours later, supplies unpacked, the kitchen warned to look for his signal for a special order, Guy stood at the bar and waited. Vath came in, as always, just after six. He was still wobbly on Isamot’s donated legs and glared down anyone who stepped forward to give him a hand.  
  
“How’s it going?” Guy asked as he did every night.  
  
“Stupid legs,” Vath muttered with a shake of his head. He looked at Guy. “It’s fine,” he snapped like Guy had offered sympathy. “Menu?”  
  
“Here you go,” Guy told him, handing it over.   
  
“Burger and fries,” Vath said after a moment.  
  
“Sure,” Guy said. He walked back to the kitchen, whistled, and tugged his ear when the cook looked over. The cook nodded and walked towards the refrigerator. Guy walked back to the bar and reached for a beer glass. “Same drink as usual?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He pulled the tap on the stout Vath preferred, fighting the urge to glance back towards the kitchen. He put the beer down in front of Vath and walked away to check on a few tables. By the time he got back, Vath’s order was up in the window, and Guy slid it across the counter.   
  
Vath took a bite while Guy cleaned a few glasses. He caught the surprised expression on Vath’s face but didn’t say anything. “This isn’t…” Vath started to say.  
  
“Huh?” Guy asked. “You say something?”  
  
“This is Rann meat,” Vath said. “It’s Groven.”  
  
“Didn’t know we had that in stock,” Guy said. “Kyle must’ve ordered it.”  
  
“Didn’t even know you could get Rann meat out here,” Vath said. “It tastes…” He shook his head. “It’s good,” he said.   
  
“Course it is. It’s my bar.”  
  
Vath ate a fry. “And these are made from root grain.”  
  
“Little taste of home, is it?”  
  
“Yeah,” Vath said. “It is.” He looked around the bar and spotted Isamot, who sat—as always—in a booth in the back, watching Vath’s back even though Vath hadn’t said more than three words to him since the transplant. “Isamot loves grain root,” he said.  
  
Guy stole a fry. It was half-mushy and rough. “Not my favorite,” he said.   
  
Vath kept looking at Isamot for a few seconds. His jaw worked for a minute before he stood up, burger and fries basket in one hand, beer in the other. “Can I get a plate of the fries?” he asked.  
  
“I’ll check with the kitchen,” Guy promised. There was more than enough for a big plate of fries; Guy had made certain of it. Back before the transplant, Vath and Isamot had regularly split the regular potato fries while they sat and drank and argued.   
  
Guy walked into the kitchen to give the order. When he walked back out, he watched Vath and Isamot in the back booth. They both had their shoulders up, uncomfortable in a way they hadn’t been since they’d first gotten partnered up. As Guy watched, Vath’s shoulders dropped, and then Isamot’s dropped to match him. A few minutes later, Isamot signaled Guy for two more beers.  
  
That was settled then, Guy thought. About damned time.  
  
  
 **Not a Mark (or a Guy)**  
Soranik looked him over with a sharp eye. “You’re not injured.”   
  
“Nope,” Guy said.   
  
“At all.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“How is that—”  
  
“Guess you’ll be off on time,” Guy said. “Say hi to the Princess for me.”  
  
“Yeah…” Soranik said. “I’ll do that.”  
  
Guy walked to the door and paused. “I mean, I figure you’ll see her tonight, right?”  
  
“It’s our anniversary.”  
  
“Good luck with that.”  
  
Soranik sighed and rolled her eyes. “Guy, go away.”  
  
“I’m gone.” He walked away, smiling to himself for a reason Soranik couldn’t figure out. She was still confused on how Guy, of all people, could come back uninjured. It was completely unlike him. He was in love with fighting like Soranik was in love with surgery. She was occasionally concerned that his love of fighting might actually be symptomatic of a serious mental condition.  
  
“Let it go,” she said to herself. “He’s probably just messing with me.” And besides, without Guy to have to patch up, she’d actually be at Iolande’s in time for dinner.  
  
  
 **Not Here to Threaten You (::knuckles cracking::)**  
“You Derek?”  
  
Derek looked up from his desk. He was situated in the midst of a huge room full of cubicles, and the man in front of him looked ready to knock down every single one of them if he hadn’t found who he was looking for. “I’m Derek,” he said. “And you are?”  
  
“Friend of a friend,” the man replied. He threw himself into the single visitor’s chair that could fit in Derek’s cube. He wore jeans, a dark blue T-shirt, and had amazingly red hair. He looked like a Weasley, Derek thought, and he wondered if this guy—with the muscles and high and tight haircut—even knew what a book was.  
  
“What can I help you with?” he asked.  
  
“You’re dating Tora, right? Or you were?”  
  
Derek tensed, searching his desk for something to defend himself with. “Are you one of her…one of her rogues?”  
  
The man barked a laugh. “Rogues?” he asked. “No, I’m not a rogue. That’s a Flash thing. And it’s lame. I’m just…I know her is all, and she said she’d been seeing you.”  
  
“So?” Derek snapped, sitting up straighter. “Who I date is not—”  
  
“Look, watching you twitch is fun, but that’s not why I’m here. You dumped her, right?”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“And I’d be fine with that; I really would, but she called me, and she cried, and I can’t have that. She’s…not allowed to cry.”  
  
Derek raised his eyebrows. “Says who?”  
  
“Says me,” the man said, leaning forward in his chair. “It works like this: Tora’s the best person you’re ever gonna meet, and maybe it’s not gonna work out, but you dumped her because she’s a superhero, and that’s just impolite. She told you when she met you she was a superhero. You don’t get to use it against her—”  
  
“I don’t appreciate—”  
  
“I’m not finished,” the man said, and there was cold, hard edge to his voice that made Derek shrink back. “That’s what I thought,” the man with a smirk. Derek wanted to smack it off his face, but he was concerned he wouldn’t get his hand back.  
  
“It’s not even that you broke up with her because she’s a superhero,” the man continued. “It’s that you broke up with her after she saved your ass, and that’s downright sexist and stupid.”   
  
“Like you’d know,” Derek sneered. Stupid meathead coming into his cubicle, telling him how to handle his relationships. “You probably whistle at anyone in a short skirt.”  
  
“I used to,” the man replied, “but I grew out of being a dick most of the time. Tora helped with that. If you actually care about her, and you actually aren’t the complete douche you’re coming off as—and I think you may be all right if she’s concerned about missing you—then I think you should nut up, call her, apologize like a bastard, and let her grant you a second chance.”  
  
“Grant me?”  
  
“Grant you,” the man confirmed. He stood up and leaned over Derek’s desk, his biceps flexing as he placed his fists over the report Derek had been reviewing. “But if you can’t deal with the fact that that smart, funny, sweet, kind person who is Tora can also save your ass on occasion and will do so whether you deem it necessary or not, then fuck right off and stay there.”  
  
“I don’t need—”  
  
“She will change your life,” the man continued. “But if you’re not man enough to let her take care of you, don’t even think of trying again. You got me?”  
  
“Why are you even here?”  
  
“She called me. She cried. She seemed to think there was something in you worth having around. I trust her judgment on that, dick though you seem to be.”  
  
“I don’t appreciate—”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t care. Call her or don’t. If you do call her, mean it when you apologize.”  
  
“Or what? You’ll kick my ass?”  
  
“Damn straight. But only because she doesn’t have it in her to do it herself unless you’re a physical threat.”  
  
“Who the hell are you?”  
  
“Just a buddy.” The man grinned, and it gave Derek a chill. “Feel free not to mention I stopped by.” He walked out of Derek’s cubicle, whistling as he headed for the door.  
  
Derek stared at the empty chair in front of his desk. He reached for his phone with a shaking hand.  
  
“Hello?” Tora answered, her voice warm, like she was simply happy to have a phone call. Derek bet she sounded the name to telemarketers and wrong numbers.  
  
“Hey, it’s me.” There was a pause, and Derek suddenly felt like the biggest dick in the world. “Do you want to get coffee?” he asked. “I think—no, I do owe you an apology. If you’ll accept it.”  
  
“I’d love to meet for coffee,” Tora answered. “I think we have a lot to talk about.” There was a brief pause. “I’m so glad you called,” she added. “I was hoping you would.”  
  
Derek was certain he’d never had that level of honesty and kindness simply handed to him before. Maybe the weird ginger was onto something. “You’re a good person,” he said.  
  
“Thank you. I think you are, too.”  
  
He felt warm all over, like he’d walked out of an air-conditioned room and into a comfortable spring afternoon. “Thank you,” he said, feeling weird to accept such a compliment but also happy to get to. “Tonight? Six? The place down the block from my office?”  
  
“That sounds great. I’ll see you there.”  
  
“Great,” Derek said. He said goodbye and hung up the phone. After a few seconds, he stood up and looked around. The weird ginger was gone. Derek wondered if he’d been some weird hallucination.   
  
“I’m not going to mention it,” he muttered as he sat down again. “She’d probably think I’d lost my mind.”  
  
  
 **Happiness if Finding a Genie (and Your Best Friend)**  
“One wish,” the genie said.   
  
Guy raised his eyebrows. “One?”  
  
“One.”  
  
“Can I wish for more wishes?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Can I wish for a giant pile of money?”  
  
“If you wish.”  
  
“Can I wish for someone to fall in love with me?”  
  
“If you want to be a total creep, sure.”  
  
Guy’s eyes narrowed. “Where’d you learn vocabulary like ‘total creep’?”  
  
The genie waved a hand to encompass the asteroid belt he’d popped out of. “You and the others from your planet always travel right by me. I’ve learned a lot.”  
  
“Hmm,” Guy said. He crossed his arms and gave the genie a long look. “Anything I want?”  
  
“Anything you can imagine, and I will make it truth.”  
  
Guy thought for a few minutes while the genie watched him. He could make the bar battle-proof or get Kyle a big art opening or have all the supervillains taken from Earth or have all the supervillains taken from the whole universe or get Bats punched in the face once a day.  
  
But if there were no villains, what would he do? Sure, he could teach again, but the Corps was his life now, a thing and idea he’d found and earned outside of everything he’d ever had. He didn’t want to lose it. He could get Kyle a big art opening, even make him famous, but Kyle would hate it if he hadn’t earned it. The bar being battle-proof would be nice, but it’d become a weird tradition to rebuild it with the other Lanterns. And really, if anyone was going to punch Bats in the face once a day, Guy would like it to be him. And he’d rather not have to wish for it.  
  
He thought some more, as the genie started to look bored and starting poking at stars, moving them slightly out of alignment. “Anything?” he asked again.  
  
“Yes,” the genie answered, looking peeved. “Whatever you can imagine.”  
  
“Okay.” Guy went back to thinking. The genie started pulling the stars into a shape Guy couldn’t identify. One wish, Guy thought. One wish. His life was where he wanted it; there was nothing that needed wishing for. He had the bar and the Corps and Kyle and a real, live collection of friends. And he couldn’t think of anything he’d want for Kyle that Kyle didn’t want to do on his own. The one wish should help someone, though, Guy decided. No point in having a good life if you couldn’t pass it along when an all-powerful genie popped out of an asteroid.  
  
“Well?” the genie asked. “I have things to do.”  
  
“Sure you do,” Guy drawled. He scratched at his chin, and it came to him in a flash of clarity. “Got it.”  
  
“And what shall it be?”  
  
Down on Earth, seconds later, at Rip Hunter’s Time Lab, Booster opened the front door to a frantic knock. “What is—” His voice caught in his throat, and he stared. “…Ted?”  
  
“I died,” Ted said. “And I’ve been dead for awhile, but I’m back, and it’s not going to destroy the world.”  
  
“How…How do you know that?”  
  
Ted shrugged. “I dunno, but I do.”  
  
Booster reached out a hand, and Ted met him partway, their fingers curling together comfortably. “Rip’s gonna give you a check up like you’ve never had.”  
  
“I know that, too,” Ted said. “But I still don’t know how.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Booster said, pulling Ted in close. “It’s really you, isn’t it? You’re really here?”  
  
“You tried to save me,” Ted said, “but it would have destroyed the world, basically, so I made you let me go again.”  
  
“Yes,” Booster said, closing his eyes tight as he hugged Ted until he was certain Ted couldn’t breathe.  
  
“But that’s not gonna happen this time,” Ted said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“And you have no idea how you’re sure?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Booster laughed, hands shaking as he pulled back and cupped Ted’s face. “Perfect,” he said. “That is just perfect.”  
  
“My best joke yet,” Ted said, and he laughed too as Booster pulled him into the lab, hollering for Rip to get out the sharp and pointies.  
  
  
 **I am so Tired of this Argument (But Not of You)**  
This time, Kyle was absolutely certain he was out of pencils. He had labeled his most recent set with marks on the top end, and the one Guy had just happened to find in the cushions of the couch wasn’t marked.  
  
“Are you secretly resupplying me pencils?” Kyle asked, holding up the pencil in question. “This isn’t one of mine.”  
  
“Well, it’s not mine,” Guy said. “And it looks like the ones you use.”  
  
It was, in fact, Kyle’s preferred brand and shade of charcoal, but he was certain he hadn’t bought it. “This is not mine.”  
  
“Well, then you’ve got a fairy artmother.”  
  
Kyle narrowed his eyes and pointed the pencil at Guy. “You are buying me art supplies and hiding it around the apartment.”  
  
“Why would I do that?” Guy asked.  
  
It was a good question. Kyle thought about it for a few seconds. “Is this because I won’t let you help with Mom’s hospital bills?”  
  
Guy scoffed. “I’m buying you art supplies because you won’t let me help with thousands and thousands of dollars in hospital bills? Yeah, that sounds like it evens out.”  
  
“You are!” Kyle shouted. He stalked over to Guy, pinning him against the couch before he could get away. “This is exactly the kind of thing you do. If you can’t make the big gesture, you make the small gesture.”  
  
“You’ve snapped,” Guy said, but Kyle could see his eyes and could see he was lying.  
  
“Guy…” It came out soft. “We talked about this—”  
  
“I’m your…partner or boyfriend or whatever. I should get to help you with the hard stuff.”  
  
Kyle stuck the pencil behind his ear and tugged at Guy’s ears, a weird affectionate joke that he couldn’t remember starting but enjoyed for the way it made Guy duck his head and blush a little. “You are helping me with the hard stuff. The money…I’ve got a good chunk stored away. I mean, it’s not like we have rent here, and the bar’s doing fine, and we’re getting paid by the Corps on top of it. I can handle the hospital bills. You’re here to help me with the other junk. The emotional junk.”  
  
“I want to help with the bills,” Guy said. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because.”  
  
Kyle laughed a little, rolling his eyes. “Of course.” He shook his head at the whole situation and moved back from Guy, giving him room to maneuver. “I don’t need help with the hospital bills, and I know that bugs you, but you don’t get to change my mind on this. She’s my mother; I’m taking care of her.”  
  
“She’s basically my mother, too.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s…You’re stubborn all the time. I get to be stubborn about this.”  
  
“You can’t stop me from buying you art supplies,” Guy replied. It was his way of agreeing to terms, Kyle knew. He could work with that.  
  
“Fine,” Kyle agreed. “And you don’t have to pretend like I’ve just misplaced stuff anymore.”  
  
“All right.” Guy stood up and walked into the bedroom. Kyle listened to him rummage in the closet and nearly fell over himself when Guy walked back out, arms piled high with sketchbooks and pencils and watercolors and oils and pens.   
“That’s a lot—”  
  
“That’s not everything,” Guy interrupted, “but I figure it’ll be easier to bring it out in stages.”  
  
“You…” Kyle shook his head. “You bastard.” He thought of his mother, alone on Earth save a few friends, of the way she’d worked overtime and Saturdays so they could be mildly comfortable and he could have art supplies. Thought about how he’d felt the first time he’d seen the prices for himself and knew what it was costing and how his mother had told him not to think about it when he’d worried out loud he was causing strain to their budget. “Jesus, Guy, this must have cost you—”  
  
“Less than half the cost of your mom’s bills by a lot,” Guy finished for him. “I’m gonna owe you for awhile.”  
  
“You don’t owe me—”  
  
“You busted me,” Guy said. “That means I can do it on purpose now. I don’t have to disguise it.”  
  
Kyle crossed the room and pressed Guy against the wall, kissed him until they were both panting into it. “You are entirely too good to me.”  
  
“Someone’s gotta be,” Guy replied. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.”  
  
“You…” Kyle shook his head again, pulled Guy in tight for a hug. “All right,” he said. “Shower me in art supplies all you want. I won’t stop you.”  
  
“Even if you tried—” Guy started to say, but Kyle stopped him with another kiss.


End file.
